


Red

by thewoman1



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dark Ending, Dream Sex, Heavy Angst, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Necromancy, No Spoilers, Not a healthy relationship.., Obsessive Dean Winchester, Resurrection, Unrequited Love, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 02:14:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10607190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewoman1/pseuds/thewoman1
Summary: The writings of Dean Winchester, an Initiate at the Mage’s Academy who becomes tragically infatuated with a dead man"It was madness. Madness in every way that I knew was madness. But I knew I needed him. I knew that he was a noble man, a righteous man that shone with the light of Heaven. I knew that he had fought a terrible monster and killed it. I knew that Cas was dead.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Some tags were not included to avoid spoiling the ending. They will be included in the notes at the very end of the fic.
> 
> This is an account from Dean's POV. He may not be the most reliable narrator.

* * *

 " _We are free to choose our paths, but we can't choose the consequences that come with them.”_

* * *

 

Cas. Cas-ti-el. I remember when I first heard that name. Not too long ago. It was at the Mid-Hallows Eve festival held at a very rich estate west of the Mage’s Academy that me and the other Initiates unexpectedly found ourselves invited to. To be honest, we shouldn’t have been too surprised, there were very few noble families in our region of Lawrence and looking back, it made sense to have mages and sorcerers attend a supernatural holiday.

I’d been at the Mage’s Academy for almost two winters. I left home when I had seen twenty to become a Battlemage. Like a good son, I was following in my Dad’s footsteps…kinda. The thought of him still left a bitter taste in my mouth. Dad had been a warrior in the Legion, a proper sword and shield man, but had no magical ability.  Mom, on the other hand, was an accomplished mage, but she died when I was young in an accident involving magefire. After her death, anything magical was a reminder of what Dad had lost. He loved Mom’s memory, but hated and blamed magic.  Fate must’ve pulled a sick joke on him because both me and Sammy had access to magic.

For so long I wanted to make him proud. I nearly broke my back training with lances and swords since I could hold them.  But the day I accidentally set fire to my bed with sparks I conjured from thin air was when he started looking at me differently. He still taught me swordplay, but the warmth of his pride was gone. I still wanted to be a warrior, so I crushed any idea of magic at first. But I was _good_ at it. I was decent with a dagger or sword, but magic was my true calling. Destruction magic came to me so easily and I loved feeling the rush of power as it exploded in the form of lightning, fire or frost from my palms. 

As I got older, I realized that I could swing a sword in one hand and keep a spell charged in the other, doubling the power I had. With magic, I could be great instead of average. I could still join the Legion like dad wanted me to but as a Battlemage. I'd heard of Battlemages in the Legion, but to be recognized I had to pass a series of test to prove that I was good enough to stick a sword in someone AND graduate from a magical institution. I was practiced well enough with a sword, I just needed to enroll at a Mage academy. There was one in our region, but it was a three day ride on horse and up in the mountains. I’d be gone for three winters, which I knew would be completely unquestionable in Dad’s mind. But I had to at least try, this was the rest of my life we were talking about.

When I set my teeth and told Dad my revelation over dinner one night, he exploded.

"No son of my mine will waste his time learning some cheap magic tricks!” He roared. I argued back that if I actually learned how to use magic properly, I could enter the Legion just like he wanted me to. It wasn’t like I was completely rejecting the family business, I was just making it my own.

He still refused. Any son of his would be a ‘true’ warrior. We’d went back and forth for what seemed like ages, but noticing Sammy sitting there frozen watching our argument with his fork halfway to his mouth, Dad pulled his trump card.

“Your brother needs you. Are you planning on abandoning him for some stupid magic school? How can you even think about going away when it’s your job to look after him?”

That shut me up. I’d forgotten about Sam.  I couldn’t leave him. He needed me more than ever then with Mom gone and Dad leaving every other month for Legion duty. He was only fifteen and who knows what kind of trouble he could get into if I left.  So I resigned myself to being a plain warrior. I had always known I would join the Legion, but a tiny part of me wished that I could do it on my own terms. Do something I’m good at and not just be mediocre. But family always comes first. Dad and Sammy, they were the only blood I had.

I slowly made my peace with it as the weeks went by. However there was only one hiccup; Sammy had taken it upon himself to try and convince me to go. He spent the next couple of months hinting near constantly for me to try and change Dad’s mind.

“Alright fine,” I snarled one night when he cornered me in my room for another ‘serious discussion about my future’. “You wanna be serious? Okay you got it. Have you even thought about what you’re gonna do when Dad leaves for Legion duty when I’m not here, huh? How're you gonna feed yourself? Where’re you gonna get the money for anything around here? Face it Sammy, you wouldn’t last a month without me to take care of you.”

I knew I was being harsh on Sam but after months of self-pitying, it felt good to just yell at someone.

“Ellen and Jo.” Sam said calmly, with all the certainty of newly turned sixteen year old. “I could stay with them when Dad leaves for Legion duty.”

“There’s no way Ellen would let you stay with her. She still hates Dad and she’s already got her hands full with the pub and Jo.”

He crossed his arms. “She already said yes,” and his face softened. “Dean, she wants you to go just as much as the rest of us.”

It was around then that my eyes started watering from the dust or something. Little shit must’ve planned all this behind Dad’s back. “I still can’t leave you by yourself.”

“I’m not a baby anymore you know,” He said crossly. I snorted again as he continued on, “What I’m saying is you, out of everyone I know, deserve a chance to be something great. I’ve seen you practice magic since forever and you’re great at it. You’re not just a grunt Dean, you’re a genius. No one can conjure up Destruction magic like you can. You'd be wasted here.”

“M’ not a genius.” I muttered, not meeting his eyes. “You’re the one who’s got the brains in the family.”

“Says the guy who made a fireball so potent that it set the lake on fire.”

“Hey, Lake Quivira is full of swamp gas and oil. Anyone could’ve done it.”

Sam threw up his hands in exasperation “You set the water _._ The WATER. On _fire_.”

“Keep your voice down!” I hissed, glancing at the open window. 

The incident Sam was referring to was a couple summers ago when _someone,_ Lord knows who, bet his brother that he could hit a floating piece of driftwood a hundred paces away out in the middle of the lake with a fireball. I was proud to say he won that bet, but he set the lake aflame to burn for a solid hour while the entire community completely flipped their shit and started a totally unfair witch hunt that lasted for a week to find the guy responsible.

“What I mean is that you have talent!”

I shook my head. “Look, Dad said no already. I’ll just join the Legion as a normal soldier and carry on the family business. It's not like I'm gonna be a squire or something. I'll still be a warrior. Plus I got to make sure my pain in the ass little brother doesn’t get into any trouble.” I grinned, “That's my job right?”

“It’s like Dad’s talking through your mouth right now. Would you just forget about what he wants?” Sam complained, clearly frustrated. “What do you want?”

"It's not that easy Sammy.." I started but words stuck in my mouth. I was a good son. Whatever Dad told me to do I did, no questions asked.

Practice sword work under the hot sun for hours? Sure.

Take care of Sam while he’s gone for weeks? Yes, sir.

Staying at home to take care of Sammy should be a no brainer. I felt like the world’s worst brother for even thinking about leaving him behind. But a shitty selfish part of me wanted to make something for myself out in the world. Sam took my silence as an opportunity to continue his stupid case.

“I’m asking you,” He said quietly, “Please go. You’re my brother and I want you to be happy. If not for yourself, do it for me...I can’t sit by and watch you be miserable because of me.”

And that was the nail in the coffin. I could never say no to Sam. Ever.

There was only one problem.

“I’m not saying I’ll go,” I said slowly, “But Dad’s stubborn as hell. It’d take a miracle to convince him to let me enroll.”

And then Sam had smiled like he knew something I didn’t. “I know someone who can. Just give me a couple days.”

Sure enough three days later at the dinner table, Dad announced in a voice that wouldn't be any different than remarking about the weather, that he'd changed his mind. Ignoring my stare of complete disbelief, he muttered at the mashed potatoes, “Growing boy like you needs to get out of my hair.”

I glanced sideways at Sam. He grinned triumphantly, but didn’t offer any explanation. I turned back to Dad, swallowed the food caught in my throat and managed a choked, “Yes sir.”

Before I knew it, the day came where my bags were packed and my horse saddled with rations. A select few came to see me off; I hugged Sam good-bye who was totally crying and promised to write. I turned to Ellen who was usually stern looking, but today she wore a small smile and in the same breath of good luck she wished me, threatened to come up to the Academy and tan my hide if she heard of any trouble from me. Dad unbuckled the black dagger he always wore from his belt and pressed it into my hands with a warning to take care of it. I was at a loss for words; I’d never seen him without the sleek blade at his hip. It had been with him since his early days at the Legion and one of his most prized weapons. He clapped a hand on my shoulder and then went back into the house without a word.

Unshed tears in my eyes, I said my final good-byes and mounted my horse. I waved good-bye one last time and the wind whistled in my ears as I galloped away in the direction of the distant mountains.  When I chanced a look back to see that the figures of my family were specks in the distance, I slowed my horse to a trot.  

The sky gaped high above me and the breeze was sweet with the smell of sunshine and flowers. 

With no one around me, I let out a great whoop of laughter and flung my arms out as if to embrace the wind.

For the first time in forever, I felt free.

* * *

 

The grounds of the Academy were sprawling, but we were tucked away into the mountainside in our own personal bubble. Isolated from the outside, making contact with the other regions was pretty damn hard as it was difficult for messengers to reach us so deep in the mountains. It was lonely at first; I was the only Initiate who liked blade work (most mages scoffed at ‘barbaric’ methods). But I had Sammy’s letters to keep me company and eventually the other Initiates warmed up to my weapons and accepted me as one of them. Especially after I taught my roommate Benny, an Initiate talented in Summoning, how to properly use the ethereal weapons he summoned with magic.

I spent most my mornings at lessons with different Magisters skilled in the different Schools of magic. In other words, I was dicking around unless I was in Destruction magic lessons. I didn’t really care about the other Schools. Hell, all I needed was to be able at least halfway decent in Destruction and I would be admitted into the Legion.  The boring School of Alchemy or the stupid charms of Illusion were a waste of my time.  Summoning would’ve been cool, but I was terrible at it. Nearly every single time I’ve tried to summon something ended with several small explosions and Benny a headache when he tried teaching me. So I was perfectly content with sticking with Destruction magic.

After morning lessons, every Initiate was assigned tasks around the Academy before the lessons in the evening. Grunt work as I called it. Mine was to clear out the study of the old alchemist, Magister Roman, who recently dropped dead from an illness or something, and organize his spell books, notes and charms. I felt like the fucking maid.

I'd always felt uneasy when talking to him. The way he always smiled was…unnerving and his infuriating perfectness set my teeth on edge. Nobody was _that_ perfect all the time.  I’d been itching to find some dirt on him since I got to the Academy. The other Initiates thought I was nuts, but something about the man made my skin crawl.

But sorting through his things was… well underwhelming. His study, although packed with shelves of old specimens and books, was clean and organized. I had expected some weird voodoo shit like dead baby animals or something floating around in the jars, but they all looked like normal alchemy ingredients to me.

I rummaged around the shelves to sort through what looked like millions of books. As I lifted some out, I heard a faint ‘ _click_ ’ and a false back screen slid away revealing a hidden compartment. I grinned and inwardly pumped my fist. Everyone had a dirty secret somewhere and I may have just stumbled upon a treasure trove of evidence to say ‘I fucking told you so’ to every Initiate who scoffed at me.

I eagerly opened the compartment revealing… more jars and a small grubby package wrapped up in old linen.  

Disappointed, I examined the contents. The dusty jars contained specimens of some worm like creatures with no eyes, but rows and rows of sharp teeth.  They sloshed lifelessly around in their prison as I put them away, uninterested. I turned my attention to the unassuming package and started to unwrap it gingerly. Call me a pussy if you want, but I’d heard stories of Initiates blowing themselves up handling magical artifacts without care.  Like hell I was going to end up a Dean-sized stain on the wall.

Unwrapped, a small black disc covered with runes with a ring of red-orange gems circling its edges lay on the dirty linen like a diamond in dirt.  I frowned, puzzled. The thing shone like it was new, but possessed a strange timeless quality in the metalwork that suggested that it was ancient. I couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

But I knew someone that could.

* * *

 

I went to Bobby, or Magister Singer as I was supposed to call him. I never did. Bobby knew Dad way back during the wars when both of them were in the Legion. Unlike Dad, Bobby actually had some magical ability and used it to temper his weapons making them far deadlier and more effective in battle.  A whiz with magical weapons and artifacts, it was safe to say that Bobby was the go-to person for everyone, mages or warriors, who wanted some extra bite in their talents. Later, he retired and now was in charge of magical artifacts at the Academy. It was him who helped Sam convince Dad to let me attend the Academy. Bobby had promised Dad that he’d keep an eye on me and make sure that I’d be keeping out of trouble as well as enchanting some of his gear and weapons. If it wasn’t for Bobby, I’d still be stuck at home or sworn into the Legion as a common foot solider as Dad suggested by now. I found Bobby working at his forge as usual.

“What’ve you got for me boy?” He said gruffly, not looking up from his anvil. He was pounding a piece of enchanted metal into a pulp sending purple sparks flying everywhere.

I handed him the disc. “Can you tell me what this is?”

He set down his hammer and took the disc with well-weathered and scarred hands, turning it around and examining the surface. “Hmm…an old piece.”

“Won it in a game of cards.” I lied.

Bobby snorted, “Which is code for you hustled it off of some other Initiate, right?”

I shrugged and grinned, not offering any other explanation. 

“Idjit.” He chuckled and went back to artifact. “How’s Sam doin’?”

“Not too bad. He managed to summon a Storm elemental last month. He’s thinking about applying to the Mage’s Guild at the capitol.”

“With your brother’s brains? He’d have a good chance.”

I nodded and smiled fondly.  Sammy had so much talent, he had all the genius in the family. Presentation of magic at three winters, summoning a flame elemental at nine.  He had even started reading and deciphering runes from the school of Mysticism, famed for their archaic complexity. Even Dad admitted that he had talent. My kid brother was destined for great things.

“He says he just took an apprenticeship with a traveling wizard so he might be out of touch for a while.”

“Shame, I always like hearing from hi-.” Bobby suddenly looked up, all traces of humor gone.

“Where did you get this from?” He asked sharply, gripping the disc tightly.

“Uh, I-“

“Destroy this and forget you ever had it.”

I was taken back. He had never willingly destroyed any sort of artifact that came through to him, not even if it looked like complete garbage. He was stubborn as hell; no matter how beat up or broken a trinket was given to him, he always managed to fix it up or find a use for it.

“But Bobby, look at it”, I protested, “It’s got some serious magical ener-“

“Listen to me!” He cut me off again. “You’re damn lucky that you came to me instead of the other Magisters. That thing is nothin’ but trouble. Heaps of it. Do us both a favor and throw it into the great flame.”

I opened my mouth to argue with him, but the look on Bobby’s face booked no argument.

“I’m sorry.” I said and shoved the disc into the pocket of my robes, “I’ll get rid of it.”

“Good.” His face softened a fraction, “Go on now and get on out of here. Lessons are startin’.”

I nodded and turned to leave. As I made my way through the door, I looked back. Bobby was staring into the flames of his forge, work forgotten. The flickering shadows caught the lines in his face making him look decades older.

* * *

 

There was only one thing to make Bobby react the way he did. Necromancy; a forbidden branch of magic that was outlawed centuries ago. It was the darkest sort of magic that someone could practice and disastrous if gone wrong. I had heard whispers around the Academy about a nasty incident years ago involving Bobby's wife Karen. The official story was that she died in a freak accident. The rumors however, say that a necromancer had murdered and then raised her along with some other poor bastards found in a graveyard at a nearby village. Bobby and the other Magisters had barely managed to roast all of them along with the necromancer. They say that Bobby had to put Karen down himself. I asked Dad about it before, but all I got was a gruff, ‘Mind your own business, son. That story is not for me to tell.’

If the rumors were true, it made sense that Bobby would want nothing to do with the artifact. It might have been reluctance to get rid of something that was hidden by douchebag Magister Roman or sheer curiosity, but something stopped me from destroying it. If Bobby wouldn’t find a use for it, maybe I would.

I went back to Magister Roman’s room and poured over his thick bundle of notes looking for any references to the disc, but most of his writing were in some sort of code that I couldn’t make head or tails of. 

I was so fascinated by the mystery that I spent the next week or so dividing my time between my lessons and researching at the Academy’s library. The first night I showed up, Kevin, who spent most of his time there deciphering runes, commented that he didn’t know that I knew there even _was_ a library at the Academy. I cuffed him across the head and stomped off to a private corner with my books as he laughed.

Eventually, I found out that my instincts were right; the disc was a genuine necromantic artifact. Although I couldn’t understand most of Magister Roman’s notes and I sucked at researching, I managed to find out he thought of the disc to be a way of bringing back a loved one from the grave.

I would’ve explored it further, but it was around then that we were all invited to the Mid-Hallows Eve festival.

* * *

 

The festival was all anyone could talk about as hardly anything exciting happened on the mountain.  The girls fussed with their hair and robes, fantasizing about meeting handsome strangers while the boys dragged a razor across their jaw in an effort to look presentable.  If the expected glamour of the evening wasn’t enough, our hostess was rumored to be young, rich and unmarried orphan from Bethel. She had just moved to our woody and mountainous region to reclaim an old family estate and its grounds. All of the Initiates gossiped like old women about the mysterious girl’s past, what had happened to her parents, why she had left or if she was driven from her homeland. Her name was Claire and that was all we knew.

We wore our best robes for the Mid Hallows Eve festival with great pride. At the enormous marble foyer, a servant announced each of our names as if we were fucking royalty, and we strutted into the midst of the party goers like we owned the place.

Of course, then we were immediately ignored by everyone.  Looking back, we were supposed to be unimportant figures to add thickness to the crowd. Background characters. The important people pushed past us with perfect politeness, otherwise someone might as well have cast an invisibility spell on us. I watched Benny try and chat up a young and gorgeous lady who promptly took one look at him, sniffed and went off to find the arm of handsome noble. After that interaction, the rest of us were content to huddle in groups and chat sullenly.

Disgusted, I took my flagon out onto the terrace. At least they had really good liquor.

The moon was luminous that night and caught in the enormous reflecting pool that stretched out into the garden. The white marble statuary lining the sides of the pool caught the silvery moon light and seemed to glow.  The sight was so otherworldly that I was mesmerized by the strange figures immortalized in stone. Our hostess had made her home there recently so some of them still had sheets draped over them that billowed and swayed in the gentle breeze. I don’t know how long I stared before I realized that I wasn’t alone.

She was pale in skin and in clothing that I nearly took her for another statue. Her hair was the color of ripe wheat and when she turned to me, I realized she was no older than seventeen.

“Are you our hostess?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, blushing. “But I’m afraid I’m very bad at it. I should be inside with my new neighbors, but I think we have little in common.”

“It’s pretty clear to me that I’ve got nothing in common with them too.” I laughed. “Pretentious pricks. Maybe when I’m a little higher than an Initiate at the Academy, they’ll see eye to eye with me.”

“I don’t understand the concept of equality here yet.” She frowned. “Where I’m from, you proved your worth, not just expected it. Both of my parents worked hard to earn their station at the Church of God. As I hope to do as well.

Her eyes went out to the lawn, to the statues.

“Are the statues your parents?”

“That’s my mother.” She said, gesturing to a life sized, slim figured woman who wore a simple gown with a book and a cross held in her hand. Piety was written across her face with her closed eyes and gentle smile. It was clearly a realistic depiction. Her mother’s face was pretty, but her nose was crooked, her cheekbones low and a beauty mark graced her face; features that no sculptor would’ve invented except to do justice to his model’s true idiosyncrasies.

“And your Dad?” I pointed to a proud, but portly man clad in robes holding a chalice and paten.

“Oh no.” She laughed. “That’s my uncle who was one of the priests at the Church. Father’s statue still has a sheet over it.”

I don’t know what made me insist that we unveil the statue that she pointed to. Maybe it was fate, but more likely it was because of my selfishness to continue the conversation. I was afraid that if there was a lull in our talk, she would return to the party leaving me alone again. She was reluctant at first as she didn’t know how the statues would bear the cold and sometimes wet climate of the mountains yet, but eventually I won her over.

After a few minutes, we tore the sheet from the statue of Claire’s father.

The sheet dropped and I felt my breath catch in my throat. He was an untamed spirit of nature, screaming in a struggle with a colossal three headed monster figure in black marble. His long, elegant fingers were outstretched and pressed against the monster’s face, ready to smite it from existence while his other hand grasped a slim blade.  The beast’s claws gripped his throat in a sort of caress that prefaced a mortal wound and its different heads were open in a piercing shriek. Its legs and his twisted together in a battle that was a dance. I felt annihilated. This lithe, but formidable man was beautiful beyond superficial standards. The sculptor had somehow not only captured the face and figure of a warrior of God, an angel, but also his will and power. He was both tragic and triumphant.

I didn’t even notice one of the other Initiates, a pretty red-haired girl named Anna, come up behind me.  Apparently I had whispered the word, ‘Magnificent’ because I heard Claire’s reply as if miles away, “Yes, it is magnificent. That’s why I was afraid of exposing it to the elements.”

Then I heard, like a stone breaking water, Anna, “God preserve us. That must be Castiel.”

“Then you knew my father?” Claire said, turning her way.

“I’m from Neapolis. Practically on the border of Bethel. I don’t think there was anyone who didn’t hear of your father and his great heroism, ridding the land of that abominable monster. He died in that struggle didn’t he?”

“He did,” Claire said sadly. “But so did the creature.”

For a moment we were all silent. I don’t remember anything more from that night.  Somehow, I think I was invited to dinner again the next week, but my mind and heart had been completely arrested by that statue. I would later blame it on the liquor and the glamour of that night, but everything seemed diffused by a white light except for a magnificent, fearsome man. Castiel.

* * *

 

Cas-ti-el. Cas. The name burned on my lips. I caught myself whispering the man's while I shot fireballs in the practice grounds or even as I wrote letters to Sam. At first, I was disgusted with myself. Pining after a man, a Dad no less who, oh yeah by the way, was fucking long dead. So I tried to forget about the itch in my chest, but forgetting him was like trying to know somebody you've never met.  

His image stalked my thoughts; the rough of his jaw and the image of his eyes wound themselves around and around in my head until they were all that I could think about. I spent hours wondering what color they were. During the nights, I would wake up with a start filled with longing and the echoes of a lost dream. I would try and remember the comfort and warmth I felt, but it was like catching wisps of smoke between my fingers. It was gone from my memory before daybreak.

The longing grew inside me until it was an indescribable hunger in my gut.

I think I knew it was madness. And because of that I knew that I couldn’t be mad. But I also knew that I had to go back and see him engaged in that final, fatal battle with the monster.

And I went back, over and over again. If Claire had been a different sort of noble, more comfortable with her neighbors, I don’t think I would’ve had as many chances. In her innocence, unaware of my sick obsession, she welcomed me and my company. On the weekends, we would spend hours walking and laughing and whenever we stopped by the reflecting pool, I would stand there breathless at the sculpture of her father.

“Great tradition you have, preserving your relatives’ great moments in stone.” I said, feeling her questioning eyes on me.

“Thank you,” She gazed out into the reflecting pool as if recalling a memory. “It was started at the Church back where I used to live. They hold great reverence for servicemen who have dedicated their lives to their duty. When I left, I managed to persuade the other priests to let me take the images of my relatives with me. I don’t have much else to remember them by.”

“They all look amazing.”

“But you like my Father’s most of all.” She smiled. “I see you looking at it even when we’re looking at the others. It’s my favorite too.”

I smiled at her and kept my voice light and conversational while turning on the full Winchester charm as Sammy called it. “Could you tell me more about your Dad?”

“Oh, he would’ve said he was just a simple acolyte of God.  But to me he was so much more than that.” She said, stopping to pick a flower and tucking into her hair. “My mother died when I was young. I hated him...for the longest time because he didn’t grieve for long. He buried himself in his work, his duty to God. Now I can see that there was no time for him to mourn, he had an estate to manage and his duties at the Church, but he always took care of me. You could say he sacrificed everything for me. He was loving in private, but a formidable warrior when he was called.  When he left for his battle against that monster- that horrible beast that was unleashed in our land, I think he knew he wasn’t going to return. Yet he still gladly went into the fray to protect everyone, to protect me. He was loyal to a fault to his friends and ruthless to those that threatened them. What more can someone say about a man?”

Claire’s eyes had started to become misty and I felt a pang of guilt. What kind of an asshole did I have to be to drive her to tears in order to satisfy my fucked up obsession? But through his daughter’s story, I couldn’t help but feel myself falling even further. Cas not only looked like a righteous man, but according to Claire, he was one in life.

By then I knew, I was a goner.

The feel of his name across my lips blasted away any denial in me.  The air I exhaled to form the “Cas” was as if I was breathing the essence of my soul to the outside, the “Ti” was the sigh of comfort of cradling a loved one close and the tongue flick against my teeth as I voiced the “El” was as if I was kissing his spirit before me. It was madness. Madness in every way that I knew was madness. But I knew I needed him. I knew that he was a noble man, a righteous man that shone with the light of Heaven. I knew that his daughter Claire lived on after his death, bought a manor near the Academy and that she liked me, maybe even wanted me. I knew that Cas had fought a terrible monster and killed it. I knew that Cas was dead.

I felt myself torn from desire and despair.

* * *

 

When I got back to the dormitory that evening, I nursed a flagon of hard liquor in front of the fire. A hushed gift from Bobby, I usually brought it out for special occasions, but my life was fucked. I was in love with a dead man. He’d been dead for a full decade and I still wanted him. Dead is pretty rigid in terms of being out of my league. There was nothing that I could do. So It seemed like a good reason to drown myself in some strong drink. I pounded back rounds until I couldn’t see and when the hour was late, I drunkenly stumbled back to my room and passed out.

My dreams were filled with dizzying darkness that night, but I felt him.  I felt his whispered breath across my cheek, murmuring something in an ancient tongue. I felt fingers trailing across my jaw and down my throat. Wherever he touched, I felt my skin become infused with the anticipation of something greater.

For what seemed like hours I endured the sweet torture, but I wanted more than the feather light brushes he blessed me with. When I thought I could stand it no longer, his hand suddenly slammed against my shoulder and _gripped_. Possessive and fierce, it almost felt bestial. Heat and desire exploded through me and gathered in like an inferno in my groin.

I awoke gasping and needy, desire still pumping through me. My shoulder burned as if it had been branded. I fumbled to light a candle and in my fevered state, only succeeded in knocking my knuckles painfully against the bedside table.

Something clattered noisily inside and I suddenly remembered the black disc I had shoved away long ago, stolen from Magister Roman’s things.  I found myself holding ice cold disc, the mysterious necromantic artifact that could bring loved ones back from the dead.

Without thinking, I brought the disc to my heart and whispered, “Cas.”

A momentary chill filled my room and my breath hung in the air as a misty cloud. Then it was gone.

I dropped it, scared shitless and definitely more awake.  It took a moment for my reason to return, but when it did, with it an inescapable idea: the disc could give me what I wanted.

I spent that entire night trying to raise my angel from the chains of oblivion, but there was no use. I wasn’t a Summoner, let alone a Necromancer. The last time I used a Summoning Circle, I accidentally bound an octopus as a temporary Familiar to myself. It had taken weeks for me to banish the thing and wash out the ink in my sheets. Benny hadn’t stopped making tentacle jokes for months.

So me trying to raise the dead would be a pretty fucking terrible idea.

I wondered asking one of the Magisters for help, but I remembered Bobby’s forceful reaction when he ordered me to destroy the artifact. I laughed humorlessly to myself. And for Necromancy, they would expel me from the Academy and destroy the artifact themselves and with it my only hope of bringing Cas back.

What could I do?

The answer came to me weeks later. I was sitting in my lesson, bored as always, listening to Magister Turner lecturing on his specialty of Enchantment. I never paid attention in his lessons, but suddenly I felt like all the shadows were banished from the room and I was sitting in a beam of light.

“When most think of my School, they think of the process of invention. The infusing of charms and spells into objects. The creation of a magical blade, or a ring. But the skilled enchanter is also a catalyst. The same hands that can create somethin' new can also provoke greater power from somethin' old. A ring that can make warmth for a novice, on the hand of a skilled Enchanter can char a forest to ashes." The older man chuckled, "Not that I'm advocatin' that. Leave that for the School of Destruction. Those crazy fools."

That week, all the Initiates were asked to choose a School to specialize in.  I shocked everyone when I turned my back on my old love of Destruction. I focused all my efforts on the School of Enchantment, the method of which I could free the power of the disc.

* * *

 

For months, I barely slept. A few hours a week, I'd spend with Claire and my statue to remind myself of what I was doing this all for and I’d still practice sword play with Benny as I still had to keep up appearances. All the rest of my time was spent with Magister Turner or his assistants, learning everything I could about Enchantment. They taught me how to reach and manipulate the deepest levels of power within an object.

Every night after the laboratory was closed, I practiced what I learned. I could feel my power grow and with it, the power of the disc. Whispering “Cas.”, I dug deeper into the artifact, feeling every nick of the runes and the grooves of the gemstones.  At times I felt so close to him, I felt hands touching mine. But something dark and horrifying, the reality of death I guess, would always break into my dreams. It came with an overwhelming rotten stench that the other Initiates, especially Benny, started to complain about.

“Oh come on brother.” He said emerging from the washroom one morning with his robe’s collar over his nose. “It smells like you’ve let troll fat marinate for weeks in here.”

“Something must’ve crawled into the floorboards and died." I had offered sheepishly.

Magister Turner praised my hard work and progress and let me use his lab during after hours to further my progress. But no matter how much I improved or learned, Cas seemed no closer to me.

One night it all ended. I was deep in a trance, tasting his name on my lips like ambrosia with the disc bruising my chest when a sudden flash of light and thunderous crash broke my concentration. A furious rain beat down on our mountain and I went to close the shutters.  When I returned to my table, the artifact lay there in pieces.

I wanted to laugh; I wanted to cry, but most of all I wanted Cas. 

It was too much of a loss to take in after so much time and study. I just couldn’t do it. I don’t remember much after that, but they said Benny found me on the ground, unresponsive and staring into oblivion. I spent three days in the infirmary burning with fever. If I hadn’t been at the Mage’s Academy with so many gifted healers, I could’ve died.

I didn’t say a word when they asked me what had happened.

I didn’t say a word when Bobby sat at my bedside, unsaid questions on his lips.

I didn’t say Cas’ name anymore. It hurt too much.

After I was able to walk, I was able to muster up the courage to visit Claire one last time. I knew I still looked awful though. My robes hung looser than they ever have off of me when I had dressed that morning. The months I spent studying had took their toll on me.

I felt like death.

Claire was still charming and polite enough not to comment on my appearance. She moved through the courtyard chatting about nothing with me nodding occasionally, but my heart wasn’t into it.  I finally gave her reason to worry when I firmly veered away from reflecting pool and back to the doors that led to outside.

“But you love looking at the sculptures!” She exclaimed.

I don’t know if it was hysteria after months of Hell that I put myself through or sudden grief of the knowledge that the way to bring him back was wrenched from me forever that gave me the courage to say what I did. I felt that I owed her the truth…and more.

My jaw clenched and words spilled out. “Claire. I love more than just looking at the statues. I love your Dad. He’s all I’ve been able to think about for months. Ever since we took that sheet from that damn sculpture, I’ve just been….I don’t know! I can’t sleep, I can’t eat and I know you probably think I’m a psychopath, but I’ve been killing myself trying to figure out how to bring him back from the dead.”

Claire stared at me. Eyes like saucers and finally she spoke. “I-I think you need to leave now. I don’t know if this is a joke or-“

“Trust me I wish it was. I completely failed and I don’t know why. I always fucking do. This time though it actually mattered!” I could feel my nails raking my head and my voice rising. I was starting to rant but I didn’t care.

“It wasn’t that my feelings weren’t strong enough, no one can feel what I feel for him. I might not be the best Summoner or Enchanter, but it wasn’t from lack of trying or researching! Maybe it’s because your Dad never met me, but I was sure only the caster’s feeling were what powered the spell. I don’t know! Maybe the monster cast some sort of curse before it killed him. I failed! And I don’t know why!”

With a surprising burst of speed and strength for a girl her size, she shoved me hard, sending me wheeling against the hard, mahogany door. “Get out!” she screamed.

With my soul screaming in grief, I staggered to my feet among tangled robes and out of the courtyard.  Before she slammed the door shut, I managed to choke out, “I’m sorry, Claire. But I tried to bring him back, you could’ve had your Dad back!” I knew I was raving. Pathetic, even for me. “It’s craziness and completely fucked up, I know, but there’s only one thing I’m sure of in my life and it’s that I’m in love with your Dad. I love Cas!”

The door was nearly shut, but at my confession it slowly opened a crack.

“You love whom?” She asked tremulously.

“Castiel!” I yelled to the Heavens.

The look in her eyes burned through me.  “My father,” She whispered angrily, “was named Jimmy. Castiel was the monster.”

* * *

 

I stared at the shut door for God knows how long.  Despair sunk its fangs in my skin and dragged me down into the depths of Hell. Something bubbled up into my throat and burst out of my mouth in the form of laughter. In my mind’s eye, I remembered that night at the festival, so long ago, that I had first clapped eyes on my angel, the first time I heard his name. The Initiate, Anna, who had spoken behind me. Was she recognizing the monster not the man?

My feet moved of their own accord to the lonely bend back to the Academy. As I turned the dark corner, a mass of shadows gathered at the foot of an oak where it had been waiting for me.

“Cas.” I said quietly. “Cas-ti-el.”

“ **Kiss me**!” it howled.

And that brings my story to the present. Love is red, very red.

Like blood.

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> I was reading some Skyrim lore the other day and this popped into my head. Brownie points to the person who guesses which book. Leave me a review if there are any mistakes you see as this is clearly not beta read.
> 
> Spoiler tags: Monster!Castiel, Jimmy Novak, Misunderstanding, Angels are monsters.
> 
> I am thinking about doing a sequel with Sam if people like this enough.


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